At The Beginning
by rebeccaofsbfarm
Summary: Anastasia!Kogan AU. Logan is a man without a past, and Kendall is a man whose future rests in the hands of Logan, the man pretending to be the lost Tsarevich. But is he really pretending?
1. Once Upon A December

_I know that I should be updating something and not trying to write this little nostalgic AU, but it's kind of stifling my urge to write anything else, so in favor of moving on with my life, I hope you enjoy this. Credit given to Ashley, because she started this when she gave me it as a three-sentence AU prompt. I intend to take out some rather large pieces of the plot from the movie because we're grown-ups here and I know you'd like to exchange certain things for others. But on that note, the rights to the skeleton of this story go to the amazing Don Bluth and 20__th__ Century Fox. I'm also dealing with the fact that the movie itself is basically Romanov fanfiction, so I'd like to say now that any resemblance to the actual Russian Imperial family is for the sake of keeping to the foundation of the story, and I do not believe, nor would I want to, represent the actual human beings that made up the Russian Imperial family. Especially considering that I'm fudging quite a bit about Tsarevich Alexei to make him fit into the story. Also, there's one character from RPS that fought to be included, and I've included him in the hopes that his appearance will be small enough not to offend anyone. Apart from that, I've got nothing. Hope you enjoy._

**Once Upon A December**

He remembered it vividly, the night he'd come to the orphanage. It had been cold, no colder than any other day in the small village near St. Petersburg, but made colder by the emptiness in his heart. He couldn't tell why, mostly because he had no memory of how he ended up in the falling snow on the streets of what he could only imagine was the city of his birth. His fingers, small and fragile, had found the gash along his brow where dried blood had crusted his bangs against his forehead. It was in this state that he had been found and taken to the orphanage, a nameless boy with no past, and as Comrade Chekov never failed to remind him, no future.

Waking to memories of that night, the smell of fire in his nostrils while his fingers froze, he slowly came to, remembering where he was. It was the same place he'd lived for the last decade, the same cold floor with his body wrapped around the smaller boys to keep them warm. Blankets had always been few and far between, and since the revolution the boys had been multiplying like a plague, too many to feed and clothe.

It was for this reason that this would be his last cold morning on the floor of the orphanage. Today he turned eighteen, or so he had guessed. Truthfully, he could have been anywhere from sixteen to twenty, but long ago he had taken up a day to call his own, and from his calculations, today he could be considered an adult. He could escape.

He'd always risen early to be ready before the other boys, but today he took a moment to savor the feeling of bodies pressed against him, the sounds of the others snoring. This room was full of dreams just like his, and most of them would be dashed. After all, the boys who survived to adulthood would likely end up in the nearby factories where they would work their lives away to serve their country like every other good comrade.

But he had other plans. He would do something great. Though he'd never had proper schooling as far as he'd known, he could read when he reached the orphanage, and he practiced with anything he could get ahold of. It was hard to get ahold of anything other than communist pamphlets, but when he did he'd read them to the other boys, trying to provide them with the escape he so craved.

Finally he rose to greet the day, the sun rising along the purple hills as he dressed quietly in the clothes that had been set aside for him. Though they were hand-me-downs and donations like they'd always been, this set was at least new to him and he pulled them on, glad to smell the lye that proved they were clean at the very least.

Stepping around the other boys, he bent down to say goodbye to a few of his favorites, before finding his way down the back stairs to the kitchen, where Comrade Chekov was already waiting for him. She appraised him from the opposite side of the small kitchen table set aside for the servants, as opposed to the long one in the mess hall, and pushed forward a bowl of the dusty porridge he'd been forced to eat every morning for more than ten years now.

He glanced from the congealed porridge to the bitter look on his caretaker's face, considering whether he should take a stand against the terrible sludge he'd grown tired of eating, but she could see the question in his eyes and added helpfully, "Eat boy, you don't know when your next meal will be."

He hated to admit that she was right, but sat down to eat as she listed off instructions, "You must take the main road down to the factories. There is a position for you picking bolts up off the floor. If you're lucky, and you work hard, soon you will be on the line with your comrades. But you must work hard."

"I will, Comrade Chekov," he answered to appease her. She nodded, before beginning to babble about his years at the orphanage.

"To think, you were found wandering the streets with nothing. Not even a name," she reminisced, before reminding him proudly. "Now here you are, with clothes on your back and food in your stomach. And you were given the proud name of Peter, claimed by the streets on which you were found."

At this his jaw clenched. Though he'd gone by the name for as long as he could remember, he'd never thought of it as his own. If anything, it pulled him back to the streets, to poverty, and to the city that held nothing but bad memories for him. His dreams led him to Paris, where the watch had always told him to go.

He felt it lying heavy against his heart, the ticking of the pocket watch keeping time with his heartbeat. Even where it hid beneath his clothing, he could imagine the lettering on the back of the watch that proclaimed the words, "Together in Paris." For years he had imagined what it could mean, his guesses ranging from romantic to morbid, but the only thing he knew for sure was that his answer lay in the city he'd always only heard about in passing. The cover was reminiscent of the eggs by Faberge that the royals had been so fond of according to his history book. Though the book followed the rhetoric of the communist party, insulting the royal family for their waste, he had a hard time believing the fragile bejeweled decorations were a waste. To him they were beautiful.

And though it was likely he would never see one with his own eyes, he told himself that there was a chance he might. He just had to make it to Paris, and away from the drudge of this godforsaken corner of the world. His first step would be to leave the orphanage, a place where he'd lived for more than a decade, but which he'd never called home. As his guardian continued to spout instructions on how he would arrive at the factory for work, he knew at the back of his mind he would never get there. He was meant for bigger things, he just knew it.

With a scowl, the middle-aged woman wrapped an apple and a chunk of bread in a rag, preparing him for his departure by harping on about how thankful he should be for his time there, "Had we not taken you in you would have starved or frozen to death on the streets. You own the country for what it has given you: food, clothes, a roof over your head…"

"Thank you Comrade Chekov," he interrupted, but in his mind he thought, _I don't owe you anything_, "But I really should be going."

Shuffling him toward the back door, she wished him luck, reminding him to be grateful for all he was given, and he bit his tongue almost through to keep from telling her off. When they reached the doorway, he was shoved forward, only catching himself at the last moment before he would have landed in the gathering snow. He turned to glare at the woman, but she'd closed the door and he could only hear her chuckling as she retreated into the building.

He took a deep breath, the cold stinging his nostrils, and he wrapped the long scarf around his face as he started off. He walked for miles, every step harder in the gathering snow, until he reached a crossroads. He knew from the woman's instructions that to turn right would take him directly to the factories, where he would spend the rest of his life working to serve his country. But to the left? The road on the left led straight into the heart of St. Petersburg, the place of his birth, and the place where he could start his journey to Paris.

Though his heart pulled him to the left, he could also feel his head pulling him to the right. After all, he'd been fed and clothed for most of his adolescence. Maybe he did owe something to the regime that had kept him alive? But he also knew that he would never be happy here. He knew deep down that he was meant for something better than this. But was that enough to redeem his choice?

He was frozen in place, unable to move forward in either direction, and though he'd never been taught to, he closed his eyes and prayed, "Please give me a sign."

Eyes closed tight again the whirling snow, he waited hopefully for something to push him in either direction. He listened for any sign of life, but was met only with the whistling of the wind against his ears. But then he heard it, the whimpering from nearby. Peeling his eyes, he searched the blanket of snow for movement, just catching a patch of dark fur.

Walking toward it, he found a small dog curled up in the snow, abandoned, just like he'd been all those years ago. It whimpered, before opening its clear blue eyes to appraise the figure above it, and without thinking, he leaned down to scoop up the bundle of fur. Scanning over the dog's limbs, he saw no injuries and as if to prove its health, the dog leaned up to lick his face, warming his cold cheeks.

"By all means, I can't support another animal at a time like this," he said, trying to convince himself as well as the animal that this was a bad idea, but as he stared into the icy blue eyes he sighed, "But I can't just leave you here can I?"

Wrapping the little dog against his chest, he looked around, realizing that he had passed the crossroads, and was now standing at the side of the main road into St. Petersburg. Glancing down at the bundle inside his coat, he shook his head, "So this is my sign, eh?"

The dog's tongue hung out of his mouth hopefully, and he couldn't help but smile as he began walking, finally choosing his path, and marching off toward destiny.

* * *

"Next!" James screamed, and Kendall nearly jumped out of his seat. Admittedly, he'd been falling asleep for hours now, watching actor after actor fail their test. Those with any ability lacked resemblance to what they needed, and those with any resemblance lacked all ability whatsoever.

Holding his hand out, he turned to his partner before announcing, "Actually, we're going to break for lunch. Come back in an hour, you can audition then."

Seeing the frustrated look on James's face, he stood, and they gathered their coats before leaving the theater. As they walked toward the café where they ate their afternoon meal, he began to discuss their progress, or lack thereof, "You know, when we started this, we both knew it wouldn't be easy."

"But we didn't think it'd be this hard either," James added, pulling his coat tighter around his body. "I blame the Communists. They're destroying everything that resembles art or talent."

Kendall shushed him, knowing there were spies on every corner. James was brash, and it may cost both of them their necks if he didn't keep an eye on his impulsive friend. Mind, Kendall was impulsive too, but he'd learned long ago that every action had its consequences, and he wasn't prepared to deal with the consequences of speaking out against the men that controlled their world.

"Soon we'll make it to Paris," he promised his friend as they ducked into the warmth of the café and out of the cold Russian air, though he continued to whisper, knowing that they were never totally among friends. Though they referred to each other as comrades, the people of Russia could no longer trust each other, especially when they had as many secrets as Kendall and James were known to keep.

"Oh god, I miss Paris. The wine, the music, the dancing," James mused as he sat down at a table in the corner. His friend followed, as the waitress brought them their food, just according to schedule.

Kendall smirked across the table at his friend, "The women?"

A knowing smile appeared on the other man's face. They both knew he had other interests, but neither was willing to speak of it. Instead the words passed as a private joke between them as they ate quickly, having no time to spare when it came to their current endeavor.

As he finished, Kendall was quick to mention, "I'm afraid if we don't find someone soon we might miss our chance."

"It's not really in our power though is it? As little as I value patience, in this case it's necessary. After all, we won't fool anyone into thinking a mediocre actor is the heir to the Russian throne," James said, making a thorough argument for the first time in his life. Kendall nodded in agreement, before James added hopefully, "But you never know, today might be the day."

Four hours and two dozen auditions later, James was thoroughly proven wrong, and as they trudged back to their lodgings in the snow, Kendall couldn't help but remind him, "Today might be the day, eh?"

"The day's not over yet," James reminded him, his eyebrow raised defiantly, before he huffed ahead. Kendall shook his head at his friend's childish behavior before following him, the abandoned palace looming impressively ahead of them. As they entered through their "gate", a hole torn helpfully in an obscured place along the fence, they found that they were home.

* * *

He really should have known better. Standing outside the train station, he felt rejection stronger than he'd ever felt, apart from those nights on the cold floor of the orphanage, wondering just why he'd been left alone on the pavement. Had his family abandoned him? Or even worse, had something happened to them? He had never known, nor would he likely ever find out, unless he could get to Paris.

But the station attendant had squelched that idea. Without proof of his identity, there was no way to get an exit visa, and even with papers it was unlikely he could leave without a more solid reason. He clutched the panting bundle of fur closer to him, suddenly wondering where he could go. Though sleeping on the floor of the orphanage had never been pleasant, there'd been a roof over his head and walls to keep out the wind. Out here, there was nothing of the sort, and the only thing that kept him from crying was the fear of each tear freezing on his face.

He was losing hope, and fast, when he felt a hand tug at his sleeve. At first he thought he would be robbed, of what he was unsure since he had nothing but the clothes on his back, but turning he found a wrinkled face staring up at him, asking in a hushed voice, "Are you looking to leave the country?"

He nodded, and she pulled him down to speak into his ear, "There is a man named Kendall who lives in the palace. He can help you."

"The palace?" he asked curiously. As far as he knew, the palace had been abandoned with the death of the imperial family a decade ago, just before he was found on the streets. She answered him with a nod, before disappearing into the whirling snow like she'd never been there at all. He had no reason to trust her, but with nothing to go on, he approached others to ask for directions to the palace. The expressions that met him ranged from suspicious to surprised, but eventually he came upon the immense structure.

After all he had read, seeing it in person was a totally different experience. But it wasn't as if it were a page out of one of the cowboy novels he'd stowed away from some of the more progressive factory workers, who'd encouraged some of the older boys with illegal materials from places as far as America, where there was nothing but plains for miles, and the snow never numbed your bones. If he didn't find his family in Paris, he was sure to find his future in America. But to get there, he must see this Kendall person, and he shook the feeling of familiarity he felt as he approached the palace.

Judging the size of the fence surrounding the property, he thought of his options before glancing around to be sure he was alone in his venture. Shaking his head he began to climb the fence, before throwing himself over, thankfully landing in the soft new-fallen snow. He knew his approach would be obvious in the fresh blanket of snow, and tried to hide his tracks as he approached what looked like the nearest entrance. It was boarded, but after coming this far, it hardly stopped him.

On the long list of actions he considered immoral, breaking and entering ranked relatively high, but it was cold and he could feel the dog, which he'd named Fox after an animal he'd seen in a picture book, shivering against his chest. Though the palace lacked the warmth it once had, with fires burning in every room, it was shelter from the storm raging outside. And admittedly, at this point he didn't have much to lose.

Roaming the hallways, he set down Fox to stretch his legs for the first time in hours, and was greeted with barks from rooms along the corridors. As he investigated each room, he felt like he was intruding, expecting someone to come out to scold him, like a child that had been caught in a place he didn't belong. Entering a room that had once been a study, most likely that of the Tsar himself, he found that it had been ransacked, with most of the ruler's belongings left where they lay. Reaching a shelf, he found what had to be a stand for one of the Faberge eggs he's so admired, long removed and likely forgotten.

He would have liked to admire the few books that were left on their shelves, but he was forced to follow the whims of the little dog, who led him down the length of the corridor until it opened up into an immense ballroom. The entirety of the village that housed the orphanage could have fit into this one room, and he stood paralyzed, just wondering at the size of it. Though every inch was covered in a thick layer of dust, the grandness of every element was stunning, from the crystal chandeliers to the colored tile that created a pattern on the dance floor.

Fox ran out to the center, and he followed slowly, taking in everything, feeling the familiar tug once again. He thought of the people who had once celebrated here, not least of all the royal family, who had died as a consequence of the revolution. Looking up at the portrait at the top of the staircase, he saw the beauty of the four princesses: Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia, and he hardly believed they deserved their fate. Last of all he observed Alexei, the Tsarevich, who would have been around his age had he survived. Sure rumors had been perpetrated about one or more of the children surviving, but in all likelihood they had died with their parents, and he knew as much. He shook his head at the waste that presented itself in the happy portrait, before continuing across the ballroom, turning his back on the stairway. He'd learned long ago that it was useless to dwell on the past.

* * *

Kendall had just finished building a fire in one of the many empty rooms that filled the palace. Though they could have chosen from any of the palatial bedrooms, the room they were in currently was in the servants' quarters. After all, if anyone were to come after them, they would be likely to try the most extravagant rooms first. Instead they'd built a cozy fire in a room with two beds, beds that Kendall was thankful for after years of fending for himself.

It was then that James perked up to the sound of barking, and looking at his companion wondered aloud, "Do you think another stray could have gotten in?"

He shrugged in response, before a silent agreement was made to go after the sound. Throwing aside the think blanket he'd been wrapped in, Kendall led the expedition through the deserted hallways until they reached the grand ballroom. Sure enough there was a scatterbrained mutt scampering around in the same place the royals had once frolicked, but almost immediately he noticed that the dog wasn't alone.

He held out a hand to stop his friend, before shouting from the grand staircase opposite to the one the intruder must have used, "Hey, you're not supposed to be in here!"

The man, or was he a boy, looked up before breaking into a run in the direction from which he'd come. Almost immediately Kendall felt bad, sensing that, like them, he'd only come in for the warmth and took a few long strides to catch the other man at the top of the opposite staircase. Catching his breath, he held up a hand to show he meant to speak, and oddly the man waited.

"Were you a rabbit in another life or something?" he charged, and immediately the dog's ears perked up. James seemed to notice the mutt for the first time, picking him up and speaking to him as if a child. Kendall rolled his eyes before continuing. "How did you get in here?"

"Someone sent me. They said you could help me. You're Kendall, right?" he asked, his expression pensive, as if he were trying to make an infinite number of connections. A look passed between Kendall and James as they thought of the consequences of trusting the man, the fear in his eyes neither proving nor disproving his innocence.

Pulling his companion aside, Kendall asked him quietly, "What should we do?"

But James continued to stare at the man, his gaze travelling up to the large portrait of the Romanovs above them, and Kendall turned quickly to see what had distracted him. Baffled, James mused, "It's almost uncanny."

Sure enough, the man in front of them possessed the same warm brown eyes as the Tsar, right down to the crinkled laugh lines that pinched at the corners. He also had the same hopeful smile that was present on the Tsarevich's face in the portrait, and immediately they made an agreement to investigate his circumstances.

"What's your name?" he asked the stranger, and after a long pause in which the man's eyes darted to the floor, he opened his mouth, though it only worked in silence. Confused, Kendall teased him, "What, do you not know your own name?"

"Actually, no," the man answered decidedly, and when their eyes prompted for explanation he went on. "I was found wandering the streets alone when I was a kid, and I had no memory of who I was or where I'd come from."

He gave James a knowing look before continuing, "Was that around the time of the revolution?"

After a nod, he went on, "It's funny, that you were found wandering in St. Petersburg, a boy with no past, when he," he nodded to the portrait, "was a boy with no future."

Looking up at the portrait, the man squinted to find a resemblance between him and the Tsarevich, but finding very little turned back to Kendall, "Are you saying what I think you are?"

Kendall shrugged, "If you want my help, you should know that the reason you were sent to me was that we've been looking for any signs of the Tsarevich on errand for his grandmother. Our hope is to find candidates that fit his description to present her, in the hopes of finding her long lost grandson."

James glanced at him, proud of his friend's deceptive phrasing, before adding, "If we can find him, we're off to Paris."

"Paris?" the man asked, turning to look at the portrait again. The Empress was depicted just behind her grandson, and as he stared Kendall could feel him giving in.

He prompted carefully, "And where was it you needed to go?"

After a long pause, the man turned to face him, "This doesn't seem very honest to me."

"Well if you're not interested…" Kendall shrugged, before turning on his heel. James paused behind him, staring at him critically, but he had a plan. "Come on James."

He followed begrudgingly, whispering hastily, "You hothead, he's probably our last chance and you're going to let him walk…"

"Shh, I know what I'm doing," he promised, walking slowly across the tile, forcing James to keep pace with him. He could feel the brown eyes on his back, and sure enough, as they reached the center of the floor they were called back, the sound of feet pounding against the floor meeting them.

After catching his breath, the man explained, "Look, I'm not stupid by any means. This might be my only chance to leave this godforsaken place. After all, what you say is true. I _don't_ know. I could have been born a peasant in some gutter, or I could…" his eyes glanced again at the portrait on the wall without repeating either the name or the title of the boy in the portrait, "But either way, I wouldn't know."

James was the first to answer this time, "True, and if you are…you'll finally have a family."

The effect of his words was immediate, the man's face lighting up and for the first time Kendall felt almost guilty for deceiving him. At the same time, his childhood had hardly been much better. This man had at least been fed regularly with a roof over his head. Kendall had fought for every improvement he'd made in his life, and in a way, this was the man's way of fighting.

"I don't have any money," the man warned them, as if it wasn't evident by his circumstances, the worn out clothes clinging to his body in a way that showed they'd never really been his. "Or a place to stay."

"If you're willing to help us," Kendall assured, "we'll provide for you. Food, clothing, transportation, lodging…as long as you agree to come with us."

After a moment's hesitation, the man nodded, agreeing to their terms. Everything decided, James led the way back to the warmth of the room they'd claimed, babbling to the dog the whole way. Kendall rolled his eyes once again, coming up behind his foolish friend with their new charge in tow.

They pulled another bed in from a neighboring room, fitting it between theirs before settling in for the night. James was the first to doze off, aside from Fox who fell asleep curled into the man's arms. Unable to sleep, the man faced Kendall, and a question occurred to him as he felt those innocent brown eyes watching him.

"You don't know the name you were born with, but they must call you something?" he asked, and he felt the man hesitate once again, before sighing.

"At the orphanage I was called Peter, after the city, but it never felt like my name," he explained. "So I chose a name for myself out of a book one of the factory workers gave me. It was from America, about a cowboy."

Kendall couldn't help but interrupt, "You can read English?"

A look passed over the man's face as if the question had never occurred to him before, "I guess I can."

There was a pause as they let the discovery settle for a moment, before Kendall asked, "So? What do I call you?"

Smiling to himself, probably admitting this thought for the first time, he announced, "Logan. He was the hero of the story. It's nice to think that I could be the hero of my own story, you know?"

Kendall nodded, smiling in agreement, before yawning, "Well Logan, you should get to sleep. We leave in the morning."

A smile broke out onto his face, and for the first time Kendall noticed the dimples that pressed into his smooth cheeks. Closing his eyes, Logan covered his chest with his hand as if in prayer, and Kendall wondered what was obscured there. Still, he understood more than most that everyone had their secrets, and resolved himself to sleep, comforted by the turn his life would soon take.


	2. Journey to the Past

_Well it's been a while hasn't it? One reader stands out above the rest when it comes to pestering me about this story, so Ashley, this one's for you. Nothing new really, but keep in mind that I'm trying my best to avoid the paranormal references in the movie. What I've done in this chapter is the best I could manage under that premise. I hope it works for you._

**Journey to the Past**

Logan pulled the coat tight around him as he was guided through the streets of St. Petersburg by his new companions, each man flanking him as they led him toward the train station. The coat smelled of dust, and though neither had mentioned where it had come from, it was obvious it had been taken from one of the rooms of the palace. He wondered who had worn it, who had felt the fur lining bristling at their neck. He wondered if he…

But that was enough of that. As willing as he was to go along with their plans, he couldn't honestly believe that he was the tsarevich. After all, he'd seen the papers in the morning when he tended to the fire in the servant's kitchen, back when he was much younger, the headlines boasting of the slaughter that had decimated the royal family. He remembered each of their faces: Olga, the strong one; Tatiana, the beautiful one; Maria, the kind one; and Anastasia, the innocent one. It was her eyes that he remembered the most, pleading with him to remember. But what, he still did not know.

His breath caught in his throat as he became aware of his surroundings, nearing the station, and Kendall looked up to catch his eyes, taking hold of his elbow for assurance. He'd already taken to giving Logan a nickname, Jack, because he was skittish like a rabbit. Though the accusation irritated him, the nickname gave him a sort of camaraderie with the other men, almost like he'd had at the orphanage with the other boys.

"Come on Jack, we don't want to lose you now," he reminded him gruffly as they approached the train. Now James was holding him as well, and both men were looking around suspiciously. He noted that they remained in the shadow of others, using taller men as shields from the officers roaming the station, before reaching the back of the long train.

Like much of their behavior, Logan tried to ignore it. After all, they were his way out. They were his way to the streets of Paris, whatever those streets held. Being alone and homeless in the city of light must be better than being alone and homeless in the cold Russian winter, he reasoned. Instead he focused on the steam rolling up from the tracks, visible like his breath in the cold gray winter, as well as the massive size of the vehicle that would carry them.

He'd seen pictures of course. No western novel was complete without the arrival of a villain or love interest to the local depot, but this was not cantankerous locomotive. This vehicle was fire and steel, like a great iron dragon ready to swallow them whole. It made him breathless, and slightly nervous that in moments he would be forced to board this beast.

James was first to notice his trepidation, alerting Kendall with a teasing smile, "Never seen a train before, have you Logan?"

James had kept to using his real name, or what he thought of as his real name. He'd also kept Fox, who was stowed safely in the carpet bag at the tallest man's side, appeased with some jerky James had procured for him. Part of Logan felt the dog was no longer his, but had no trouble handing over the duty to James when he was so pleased by the rambunctious creature. Hazel eyes showed Logan that he was only teasing him to steady his nerves, but Logan could feel his knees shake, though whether from his nerves or the cold he couldn't tell.

Kendall nudged him, "It's easier than riding a horse."

Thick eyebrows showed Kendall's amusement at his expense as they rose critically, and Logan frowned at the offence, "I doubt you've been within a hundred feet of a horse."

"Sleep in the stables on a cold winter night and see how close you get to the horses," Kendall bit at him, expression tightening, before he realized what he'd said and muttered, "Nevermind."

Logan wanted to ask, but instead he tried to argue as he was lifted by his arms onto a train car, followed by his companions, who pushed him down the corridor until noting an empty compartment, shoved him in. James looked out into the corridor to make sure nobody had seen them, before settling in on one of the two benches in the compartment, stretching out his limbs to fill the space. Logan sat next to the window on the other bench, sure to see the last of this bitter country as it passed him by. Kendall looked between them, before accepting the seat next to Logan with a huff.

Soon the train began to move, and as it did Logan's nerves subsided. He was comforted that his future was opening up in front of him, his destination at the end of these worn tracks. The cold white hills passed the window in silence, soon to be replaced with thick green grass that stretched for miles. He smiled, ignoring Kendall's impatient movements next to him. The man had brought a book, but Logan doubted he could read with any speed or agility.

After a glance toward the blond, he was assured of the fact, green eyes squinting in frustration at the lines in front of him. Weighing his options, he decided that it was worth a shot, and offered, "I could read it to you if you'd prefer?"

His eyes shot wide open before glaring toward Logan, who shirked back into the corner as Kendall charged, "I know how to read!"

"I-I'm sure you do. It's just, I'm bored and you seem to have forgotten your glasses," he said, giving Kendall a stoic way out. His expression seemed to soften, his stance relaxing, before he looked between Logan and the book.

Shrugging, he handed it to the other man, who read the name on the cover, _Catherine the Great_, "It's nothing like your cowboy books. I was trying to ascertain some facts about your ancestors."

His tone was teasing, but with no malice this time, "Right. I should be having you refer to me as Your Majesty, now shouldn't I?"

"Okay, Jack," he said, reaching for the book playfully with no intention of taking it. "You know just about as much about being royalty as I do. That's what we have James for."

Logan looked up at the other man, who was busy playing with the dog, using his body in attempt to obscure the animal from any passersby. James looked up at Kendall as if to tell him that since he'd brought it up, it was his duty to explain.

"James has some noble blood in him as well," Kendall explained with a grin, as if the idea of being friends with a nobleman amused him more than he could describe. "He used to go to parties at the palace with his parents. Rumors say he once flirted with the princess, Anastasia. But he was the source of the rumor, so I don't put any weight in it."

James smirked, "Believe of me what you will, but my charm is legendary."

Kendall scoffed, but Logan asked curiously, "What happened to your parents?"

The glee left James's face as his focused on his long fingers dragging through Fox's fur, "Just before the revolution they were smart enough to get out. We fled to Austria, then France…where I came of age. And then certain circumstances led them to disown me."

"Did you do something wrong?" Logan asked innocently, but with a glance to his distraught friend, Kendall tapped the cover of the book that was pressed between the other man's hands.

"Get to reading cowboy. Time to study up on your lineage," Logan paused for a moment to watch the emotion cross James's face, before he opened the book and began to read.

* * *

"I'm sorry, I can hardly keep my eyes open," Logan admitted, his fingers holding the page as Kendall watched him close the book. He yawned, proving his exhaustion, and Kendall took the book from him, folding over the corner of the page so they could continue later.

He set it aside, before instructing him, "We still have a ways to go. Why don't you rest them for a while?"

Logan looked like he wanted to argue, but ultimately decided against it. He leaned against the upholstered wall of the carriage and within moments he had fallen asleep, his breath audible in whispers between his open lips. Kendall grinned, watching as he adjusted against the hard wall, before sliding his arm behind the other man's body, nudging him toward his shoulder. In his sleep, Logan complied, nuzzling into the comfort of Kendall's arm as he dozed peacefully.

"Looks like we both got a pet out of this deal, eh Kendall?" James teased quietly, dipping his pen in ink once more. His business was punishable by law, but to anyone passing by it would seem he was writing a letter to some distant lover. Instead he was inventing names, birthdates, and nationalities for each of them in an effort to go unnoticed by the border agents.

Kendall glanced at the sleeping figure against him, before defending, "He didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

"I wouldn't either if I'd learned I might by the lost tsarevich," James said, a trace of guilt in his expression. "It must be a lot to take at once."

"He'll manage," Kendall said harshly, glowering at James. "All he wants is a free ride to Paris. Once he gets there, he won't care how. Anything is better than St. Petersburg."

"Maybe after this windfall, you can finally-" James hedged, but was caught immediately.

Kendall scoffed, "Are you going to say settle down? Because you know I feel about that."

"'Homes are for the rich and the young'" James quoted back to him, rolling his eyes at the juvenility of the statement. "You can't run around like a thief in the night for your whole life Kendall. It's madness."

"Well we're both a little mad, aren't we?" he responded, telling James that the conversation was over. He shrugged before returning to his work. Kendall watched the scenery pass as his breathing synced to Logan's, calm and comforting.

He thought of a time when this all seemed impossible. Riding a train, trips to Paris, simply breathing, had once been an indulgence. He remembered a night much like this one, the snow falling thick on the ground, just after his mother died. His sister Katya had been sent to live with relatives in Moscow, but he'd been deemed old enough to fend for himself. Sometimes he wondered what had happened to little Katie, but he never doubted that she was better off than he was, begging for scraps from street vendors, seeking shelter in doorways on cold winter nights. He shivered at the memory, and caught James watching him, before returning to his work.

"He needs a last name for the papers. His name is an alias anyway, so I thought we'd let him keep it," James explained as he made up the rest of the information. It was no more than what Logan knew anyway.

Kendall stared at their new companion for a moment, noting how innocent he looked after all he had seen. He thought of the adventure Logan had always hoped for, the dreams bigger than the Texas skies, and he thought of a name that represented the man curled up beside him.

"Mitchell," he answered. "Someone I knew once left for America. They said they were going to Mitchell, South Dakota. They spoke of wide prairies and open skies. I wonder if that's anywhere near Texas?"

"I don't think so," James chuckled, and Kendall shrugged. James had studied with tutors all his life, while Kendall had possessed the basics of reading and writing, enough to get him by. For all he knew, Texas was a place made up for those stories. It sounded too good to be true anyway. James rolled the name over his tongue for a moment until it settled, "Logan Mitchell. Logan Peter Mitchell."

"It's as good a name as any," Kendall agreed, and James nodded before taking it down in his clear handwriting. It was the last of the forgeries to be finished, and he closed the papers into his briefcase before appraising his companions. Kendall was now leaning toward Logan's sleeping figure, drowsy from observing the swirling snow outside, the clacking of wheels against the tracks a gentle lullaby. Even Fox was curled up next to James, yawning sleepily, and he smiled before standing.

Kendall looked up at him for a moment as if to question him, so James answered gently, "I'm going to the dining car. One of us has to stay awake, and if it's me, I'm going to need some coffee first."

Kendall nodded in approval, before glancing down at the man lying against him. He seemed to question whether the position was compromising, before deciding that comfort was his primary goal, and Logan's warmth was more appealing than the solid glass that quartered off their cabin from the passageway. He adjusted himself to lean against the top of the shorter man's head. James watched all of this with amusement, before removing his coat and placing it over his companions. Kendall glowered at him for a moment, but didn't offer to return the coat, instead settling into it.

James sighed, wondering if even Kendall was aware of how bad he had it, before exiting the cabin, heading down the passage to the dining car. He tried to pass unnoticed as he usually did, but his good looks made it hard, and a few girls giggled in his wake. He couldn't help but smile, though he knew that Kendall would disapprove, as would another young man that he was anxious to see. If only he could make it to Paris.

He scratched his chin, which could use a shave before they reached the city. He'd thought on growing out his beard to hide his firm chin, but decided it was far too _Russian_. Maybe after this trip, he could be French again, and this time he could create a family that would accept him for who he was, unlike his own. Paris was far more liberal than St. Petersburg after all.

He slid into one of the booths lining the dining car and tried to call the attention of the attendant. As the man finally started toward him, he was interrupted by a table further down, which immediately took his attention. James turned to complain, before immediately recognizing the two uniformed soldiers that spoke loudly, ordering more food than they could ever eat, and he turned quickly, afraid he would be recognized. In his line of business, he could never tell how far his reputation had spread, and couldn't chance it, not with a briefcase of counterfeit documents waiting in his compartment. A compartment they'd never paid for. To make it worse, Kendall was asleep, and any signal he could give would go unheeded. He'd have to lie low just this once.

Opening the menu to hide his face from any passersby, he chose to listen, not chancing any sudden movements that would look suspicious. It didn't take much to hear the conversation the soldiers were having. They were boisterous, as if everyone was privy to the government's latest business. It was quite the opposite of the current policy, but he was in no position to complain.

"It's nonsensical, this new policy. The new travel documents will derail all international travel," one man argued, before laughing at what he'd determined was a clever turn of phrase. _New travel documents?_ James asked himself.

The other man shrugged him off, "Maybe that's the intention. Close the union off from the rest of the world. Strengthen the borders."

"But it's too bad the old papers have been voided. It's so much hassle to get travel papers for my whole family. How was I to know that naming my son Nicholas would label me as suspicious? It was my grandfather's name after all," the man explained to his companion, and James blanched. _The old papers have been voided._ The words ran laps in his mind, and he could feel sweat gathering under his collar.

Finally, the attendant came back to his booth, apologizing for the wait before seeming to notice the redness of his cheeks, though his face remained set in stone, "Sir, you look ill. Would you like some water?"

James nodded, and when the man returned with the glass, he drank it quickly, thanking the man, who suggested, "Maybe you should get some rest before we arrive at our next destination."

He agreed, sure that the soldiers had noticed their conversation, but stumbling just enough to show his distress. One of the soldiers asked if he was alright, but he quickly responded that he was fine, before making his way to their cabin, sprinting as he neared it. The slam of the sliding door woke Logan up, and with him Kendall. The men glanced at each other curiously before jumping to opposite ends of the seat.

Kendall seemed to observe him sleepily before noting his distress, "James, what happened?"

"The papers," he said quickly, forgetting to hide their illegal activity from their naïve ward. "Red bastards! They've changed them. I don't know what the new ones look like, nor do I have the supplies to reproduce them if I did."

"What does that mean?" Logan questioned innocently, looking between them in confusion.

Kendall grumbled but began to gather their things, "It means we need to find a way off this train before it reaches its destination."

James tried to smile convincingly as Logan's eyes asked, _He doesn't mean what he thinks he does, does he?_ To his credit, Logan paused a moment before following the others down the corridor, in the opposite direction of the dining car, back toward what he soon learned was the baggage car.

"Such lovely accommodations," Logan commented as Kendall threw his bags to the floor, seating himself on the lid of a large trunk. James was quick to check on Fox, who was rousing in the carpet bag, curious as to the change of scenery.

Kendall's look showed he was no more pleased than Logan, but was quick to tease, "So you wouldn't be forced to mingle with commoners Your Highness."

"I'm mingling with you aren't I?" he snapped, the words erupting without thought behind them. James snickered without looking up, and Logan could have sworn he muttered something. He was sure of it when he caught the angry blush on Kendall's face, and cleared his throat.

He looked to James, forcing his eyes to leave Kendall, who was now pointedly ignoring him, and asking, "So what's the plan now?"

James shrugged, instead looking to Kendall, who paused defiantly before sighing dejectedly, "How is it that I'm always the one stuck coming up with a plan when you get cocky?"

"Because you're the clever one!" James whined, and Kendall seemed to accept this as a suitable response. He set to thinking, pacing the floor before letting his fingers hover on the spaces between the boards where he could just make out the outline of the horizon.

"We'll have to jump," he finally decided, and there was a tense pause behind him as the other men realized that he was completely serious. He turned, ignoring the stunned looks on their faces and explaining, "We'll have to make it into Germany. There, the guards will stop the train to check everyone's credentials. While they're busy, we'll have to force the door and jump off."

"Just that easy huh?" James asked, his chuckles stunted with disbelief. "Armed guards roaming the train, and we're just going to dislodge a locked door and jump off? Great plan Kendall, glad we've got you."

Kendall glared at him for a moment, "I don't see you coming up with a better plan. It's your fault we're in this mess anyway. I told you to check the-"

"Guys," Logan admonished, just loud enough to draw their attention. He looked between them before reminding them, "We don't have a lot of options at this point. We can't change the past, so now we just have to focus on what's ahead. Like how are we going to get the door open?"

Kendall was struck with his words for a moment, appraising his quiet courage, before glancing around the car. He easily spotted a crowbar near the door they'd come through, and crossed the car to retrieve it. He weighed it in his hands, before trying the strength of it on the door. It didn't budge.

He continued to try, offering the tool to James as well, but neither could dislodge the door. Logan approached them with something else, some sort of hatchet, and they tried that as well. It did nothing but splinter the wood surrounding the latch, and as they continued to strike the door, they could all feel the wheels grinding to a halt. They were in Germany, they must be. And once again, their plan had failed. They were trapped.

* * *

"It can't end like this," Kendall grunted as he continued to strike the latch. Logan could tell from the stress in his voice that his past dictated a better end than this, and he wondered just what history his companion had faced. Kendall's hands were nearly bleeding with the effort, his eyes tearing up as he hacked at the door. Frankly, Logan agreed.

Quickly, he made another round of the car, this time noting a crate lodged in a back corner. The word stenciled on the side was in English, and he struggled to remember its meaning, but after only a few moments, Nobel's greatest invention was clear to him and his face lit up as he began to pry at the lid with his fingers.

He realized it was no use, and called out, "James, bring me the crowbar!"

James gave him a questioning glance, leaving Kendall to his fruitless attempts, and crossing the car with the crowbar. He too recognized the word, and set immediately to prying the lid open as Logan searched his pockets for matches, hoping that the previous owner of the coat had forgotten to remove them. For once, luck was with them, and he pulled the package from his pocket, three matches left in the box.

Striking one, it refused to light. He tried the same match again hopefully, with the same result. It was then he became aware of the shifting wheels. They were making ready to continue their journey into Germany, and it didn't take a physicist to tell them that they would never survive a jump from the train at full speed.

Quickly, he tried the second match. This time it caught, but a breeze from between the cracks in the walls blew it out before he could light the fuse. He cursed under his breath as James held out the stick, fuse unfurled, and he kissed the last match before striking it against the box. This time it lit and stayed lit, and he quickly lit the fuse, jumping over trunks and crates to make it to the door.

"Get down!" he warned Kendall, who caught on slowly, and Logan only had a moment to place the dynamite before rolling both of them to safety across the car, his body protecting Kendall's as the blast went off.

It was small as explosions go, but managed to dislodge the door, just as the wheels began to turn. Kendall looked up at him for a moment, stunned, before stuttering, "If we survive this, remind me to thank you."

"Thank me when we're on the ground," he said, pulling the other man up to find James grabbing bags, hand tight on the carpet bag that held their smallest companion. They did the same, sure not to forget any of their luggage, before approaching the edge of the car, watching as the ground began to move beneath them. "We have to jump."

James nodded nervously, but looked between them, "Together?"

They all nodded in agreement, before reaching to link arms, then releasing what was likened to a battle cry, leaping in unison from the car and landing in the soft recently-fallen snow. James managed to land on his feet, and was quick to check for the dog, who looked up at him from the bottom of the suitcase, unfazed by their recent troubles. Kendall and Logan had landed together in a tangle, and quickly removed their limbs from their precarious positions. Kendall stood haughtily before helping up the other man, who nodded in thanks.

"So what's next maestro?" Logan asked, appraising what seemed to be a stretch of snow-covered land that went on for miles. Kendall could do little more than glare as he brushed the snow from his arms and legs, using the time to think.

"Well we have to find a way to France Jack," he said, smiling with sarcastic obligation, before noting, "But we are most certainly _not_ taking the train."


End file.
